Walking Amongst the Dead
by Elf Knight
Summary: An OC watches and reflects on his father's words about Eragon Shadeslayer as the Rider pays his respect to the elves and others who died in the battle to defeat the Mad King.


**Author's Note:** Hi folks! This is something slightly different for a change. I know it's weird and the mental image may be a little disturbing but it just came to me in a flash one night as I was about to fall asleep and I just had to write it. It's just a one-shot, drabble thing set after the War as you will see. Also, I don't own the Inheritance Cycle or any of the other characters therein. So now without anything more to say and without any further ado allow me to present my latest work of fanfiction ~ Walking Amongst the Dead.

_**WALKING AMONGST THE DEAD**_

Rain pelted the earth.

Lightning rent the sky in twain continually and thunder roared in response. The very earth trembled and shook as the storm vent its fury.

It was well past midnight. However, several lone stragglers remained awake and out of doors in this miserable excuse for nature.

It was a gigantic plain that stretched as far as the eye could see. If there hadn't been any storm clouds, a full moon would have illuminated a ghastly scene of horror.

A mass of tangled, dead bodies lay in the field. Some wore armour while others were clothed in ripped tunics.

All of them were dead.

Well, some life persisted. Every single day, scavengers of both man and beast prowled the ex-battlefield to pick through the remains of what had once been a magnificent army of elves torn asunder by the sheer savagery of the Empire.

Although the Mad King had finally been defeated, many died. Now the week and frail were left and some of these lingered still at the bloodbath.

Amongst these was a small boy no older than twelve, perhaps, and an old man hunched over on an oaken cane. The boy's fierce dark eyes darted about swiftly. If one would have listened closely they would have heard him whisper furtively to the old man.

"Father!" He said, tugging on the old man's tattered cloak. "Father, look!" 

"Eh, what, now?" The old man inquired in a raspy voice hoarse from age and the hard labour of his youth.

"Who is that man?" The boy demanded fearfully.

"Eh, what man, sonny?" The boy's father laughed. "This aint no decent place for normal folk to tread. No one would come here save for you and me, well, old Garth stopped by a fortnight ago. He was blown out of his mind, he was!"

"That man father!" The boy hissed in annoyance, pointing.

The old man looked up, reluctant to part from his search, and squinted into the darkness. A flash of lightning revealed a tall and lithe young man dressed in a sombre robe of grey. His brown hair waved in the wind allowing the old man to see pointed ears. The young man's face was finely sculpted like a statue carved out of marble.

He barked a laugh.

"That man, eh?" The old man said. "That man is one of them Dragon Riders, he is!"

"A Rider?" The boy gasped, breathless from excitement. "You mean?" 

"Yes!" The old man wheezed, shaking from laughter. "One of them Riders, he was. He defeated the Mad King they said."

"Defeated?" The boy frowned. "But the King lived for centuries. He was like a god. He was a god! How could even a Rider defeat him?"

"No one knows!" The old man said softly, his eyes taking a faraway look. "But what people do know is that he comes here every single night of the full moon to walk amongst the dead. He has a list of names, he does. He says them quietly and makes some queer motion with his hand. They say he went mad, like that dratted old king. Nothing good can come out of them Riders, if you ask me."

An awkward silence settled over them as the boy's father returned to digging through the bodies for what little good he could make use of. The boy settled down on a ripped shield, hugged his knees to his chest, and peered into the darkness.

He watched and waited as each flash of lightning showed a haunting image of a stooped young person ghosting along like a wraith, pausing ever so often at some unknown soldier. The boy heaved a sigh and let his shoulders sag in defeat.

His father was probably right. What good could come from the Riders, a fallen order, lost and friendless like that poor man walking amongst the dead? Oh, well! A boy could still dream...

**A/N:** Depressing I know but I just had to write it and was kind of bored, wanting to take a break from my other fanfics. I don't expect much in the way of reviews but I would love to read a comment of your thoughts on this one-shot.


End file.
